


Wanna Catch Fire, Get a Little Hotter

by ragingrainbow



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Boot Worship, Bottom Scott Hoying, Dom/sub, Dominant Mitch Grassi, Established Relationship, Femme Mitch Grassi, Fucking, Leather, M/M, Spanking, Submissive Scott Hoying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 22:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11472831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragingrainbow/pseuds/ragingrainbow
Summary: Scott’s on his knees before he can even think about it. As difficult as it is to look away from the perfection that is Mitch, he drops his gaze and bows his head, hands splayed palm up in front of him, a perfect imitation of the pose Mitch has taught him.





	Wanna Catch Fire, Get a Little Hotter

**Author's Note:**

> For reference, Mitch is wearing this skirt: <http://zanabayne.com/march-16-bossa-nova#gallery/e3b04635ca8f98ce1b3bd53d4e17c44a/2531>
> 
> Betad by @silentdescant. 
> 
> For Deepika, Danielle and Max - thanks for the inspiration and cheerleeding. :)

The house is quiet when Scott gets home; unusual, because Scott knows Mitch is home and Mitch usually has music on when he’s home alone. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Scott shouts as he takes off his jacket. 

“In here, come see what I got!” comes Mitch’s immediate reply. There’s something in the timbre of his voice, the barest hint of command, that reveals more about Mitch’s intention than his words do.

Excitement pools in Scott’s gut as he realizes what direction this afternoon is headed in. He undresses at the door, folding his clothes and putting them in a neat pile before he goes to look for Mitch.

Scott’s stops in his tracks as soon as he finds Mitch in the living room. Mitch is casually sprawled on the couch, and his outfit is-- hot isn’t enough to describe it, but Scott can’t think of a better word. He’s wearing the pink Gucci fur he got in Paris - thank fuck, Scott’s been waiting on Mitch to use that for _weeks_ \- and underneath it there is a hint of black leather; a corset, Scott assumes based on experience. Mitch’s skirt is new, and presumably what he wants to show off; more leather which ends just below his crotch, and continues in a web-like pattern, showing off the smooth flesh of Mitch’s thighs above the edge of his knee-high boots. He has a glass of champagne in one hand, and he’s pinning Scott with his gaze, one snatched eyebrow raised - a challenge, and invitation, a command. 

Scott’s on his knees before he can even think about it. As difficult as it is to look away from the perfection that is Mitch, he drops his gaze and bows his head, hands splayed palm up in front of him, a perfect imitation of the pose Mitch has taught him. 

Moments drag past in which Scott can only hear his own harsh breaths and blood rushing in his ears. When Mitch speaks, the note of command in his voice sends a shiver up Scott’s spine. 

“Good boy. Come here.” 

Scott keeps his eyes downcast as he crawls - the crawling used to feel silly, but now it’s arousing because he knows it turns Mitch on - over to the couch, resuming his kneeling pose by Mitch’s feet. 

The sleeve of Mitch’s fur tickles his cheek when Mitch reaches out to touch him. Scott fights the urge to turn his head so he can nuzzle his face into the softness. 

Mitch slides his foot forward, touching Scott’s hard cock with the pointy tip of his boot, staining the shiny black surface with precome. 

“Look at you,” Mitch says, “leaking already. So eager.” 

Scott feels a blush creep up his neck. He keeps still and silent, because Mitch hasn’t asked anything else of him. 

“Clean up your mess,” Mitch commands, gently pushing Scott’s head downwards. 

Mitch keeps his hand on the back of Scott’s head as Scott gingerly touches his tongue to the boots. He mostly tastes leather, but the salty undertone of his own come goes straight to his cock. 

“You can do better than that, lick it like you mean it.”

Mitch slides his hand up to grab Scott’s hair, and Scott whines at the sharp pain. He flattens his tongue against the leather, giving it a few long licks, cleaning off the come and leaving it glistening with saliva instead. 

Mitch pulls him up by his hair once he’s done, forcing his head back so he’s looking up at Mitch. 

“Now, what shall I do with you?” 

Scott chances an answer, since Mitch phrased it like a question. “Whatever you want, Mistress.” 

Mitch’s eyes go soft around the edges when he smiles - it’s familiar and comforting, reminds Scott that even like this, Mitch is always _his_ Mitch, and Scott can trust him implicitly. He releases his grip on Scott’s hair, moves his hand to cup Scott’s chin instead, rubbing his thumb against Scott’s cheek. Scott’s lips part of their own accord, and Mitch is quick to poke the tip of his thumb inside. 

“So good for me, my good boy” Mitch praises, and Scott’s face flushes with pride. 

Mitch retrieves his glass from the side table and takes a sip of champagne. His upper lip is wet when he brings the glass back down. He licks it away, slowly. Scott can’t look away, whimpers at the sight of Mitch’s tongue. Simultaneously wants to be the one the lick Mitch clean and have that tongue on his own skin. 

“Thirsty?” Mitch asks, and offers the glass to Scott. 

It’s not champagne Scott is thirsty for - Mitch knows that, of course - but he obediently parts his lips as Mitch tips the glass against them. Mitch tips the glass too far, so some of the liquid escapes and trickles down Scott’s chin. 

“Ooops,” Mitch says, eyes playful as he sets the glass back down, before leaning forward so he can lick Scott’s face. 

Scott desperately wants to kiss Mitch. Mitch’s mouth is _right there_ , his breath warm on Scott’s chin, his tongue soft against Scott’s lips. 

“ _Please_ ,” Scott begs, before he can stop himself. 

Mitch pulls back, cocking an eyebrow at Scott. Scott flushes, with shame this time. He wants to apologize, the words are on the tip of his tongue, but Mitch doesn’t ask for it. He keeps silent instead, waiting for Mitch to tell him how to make up for his transgression. 

“I believe you know the punishment for speaking out of turn?” 

Scott does. He shudders. “Yes, Mistress.” 

“Tell me.” Scott fights to stay still as Mitch casually flicks the toe of one boot against the head of Scott’s cock. 

“Spanking, Mistress.” 

“How many?” Mitch prompts, lifting his foot and pressing his toe against Scott’s cock - not with enough force to hurt, but definitely hard enough to remind Scott that he _could_. 

“Ten,” Scott responds, and his hands are trembling. Mitch notices, strokes his cheek. 

“You can do it. For me.” Mitch is so steady and sure, and Scott believes him, it’s just-- he _hates_ spanking; he’s not a big fan of pain in general, but spanking makes him feel particularly vulnerable. Which is of course why Mitch uses it for punishment. 

Mitch strokes his hair and his neck for a few moments, giving Scott time to just breathe until he relaxes with a soft sigh. 

“ _Good_ boy,” Mitch says, shrugging off his fur - he is indeed wearing a leather corset underneath, which distracts Scott for a moment. 

“Up.”

Scott follows Mitch’s instruction, and lays down across Mitch’s lap on the sofa. The plastic rings on Mitch’s skirt dig into his stomach, the slight discomfort helping to ground him. 

“Starting with five,” Mitch says, and barely gives Scott enough time to prepare for it before he lands the first blow. 

Mitch doesn’t hold back, doling out the first five with enough force to make Scott’s eyes water. He lands all five on the buttocks, though, keeping them spread out so the sharp pain quickly fades to a dull ache. 

Mitch pauses after the first five. He rubs the skin he just spanked, making it both worse and better at once. Scott focuses on breathing. 

“Five more,” Mitch says gently, before he starts again. 

Mitch keeps his hand on Scott’s lower back, pinning him down for the next few spanks. Scott’s grateful as the first three lands on already-blushed skin, adding to the deep ache, and even more so when Mitch lands the last two on his upper thighs - gentler hits which still hurt more, enough for Scott to cry out. 

“All done,” Mitch says, leaning down and kissing Scott’s shoulder, hand still rubbing his ass. 

Scott’s cock had softened during the spanking, but it hardens again when Mitch stops rubbing and dips a finger into his crack instead, pressing against his hole. Scott can’t stop the way his hips rock once at the contact, but Mitch doesn’t reprimand him for it. 

Mitch’s hand disappears, and seconds later there’s the click of the lube bottle. Scott whines even before Mitch’s finger is back at his hole, slick this time as he traces the rim. 

“Oh baby, you really needed this, didn’t you?” Mitch sounds a little out of breath now, and Scott feels a surge of pride at having made that happen. 

“Ye- Yes, Mistress,” Scott stammers, even though it was more of a rhetorical question, the answer more than obvious from the way Scott’s leaking against Mitch’s hip. 

Mitch doesn’t say anything else, just presses his finger in, gentle and slow - they don’t do this often, so Mitch is always careful with him. Sometimes Scott wishes Mitch would be rougher. 

“Let me hear you, babe,” Mitch says after a while, and Scott hadn’t consciously avoided making noise, but it’s like Mitch’s command opens the floodgates. He whines, pathetic little noises cut off by panting breaths; Mitch hums in response and gives him another finger. 

Mitch takes his time, reducing Scott to a writhing mess, taking him way past the point where he has enough wits about him to be self-conscious about it. He’s humping Mitch’s leg; Mitch reminds him in a stern voice that he is not allowed to come, but he doesn’t think he can hold it, feels so helpless as Mitch’s fingers brush over his prostate again and again. 

“Please,” he whines, “please- Mitch- _please_ ”. He strains against Mitch’s hold on him - a superficial struggle, because Mitch isn’t pinning him down with enough force to hold him if he put any real effort into getting away. 

“I’ve got you,” Mitch says, guiding Scott up from his own lap and half down onto the floor with his chest resting on the couch. Scott closes his eyes, focuses on not coming as he waits.

Mitch stands on his knees behind Scott, Scott hears a condom wrapper being torn open moments before Mitch’s slick head pushes against his hole. It’s not difficult to relax and take it; he feels boneless already, fucked beyond resistance by Mitch’s fingers alone. 

Mitch’s movements are practiced, gentle rolls of his hips which drive him a little deeper each time, until he’s finally all the way in, and Scott almost climaxes just from the feeling of fullness. 

Scott tries to beg, isn’t sure he’s actually forming words, might just be making incoherent noises, but it doesn’t matter because moments later Mitch’s hand is on his cock, and Mitch is fucking him with slow, deep thrusts, and there is nothing Scott needs other than this.  
“Come,” Mitch says, so much power in that word, because seconds later Scott is indeed coming, fingers scrambling for purchase against the rough fabric of the couch as Mitch fucks him through it. 

Mitch takes care of him after, lays him on the couch; kisses him, tells him he’s been good, and tucks him in with a blanket so he won’t be cold while Mitch goes to change into something more comfortable. 

Scott’s almost drifting off when Mitch comes back, but he’s more than happy to follow Mitch’s suggestion and put his head on Mitch’s lap, so Mitch can pet his hair as he naps.


End file.
